Monthly Archives: January 2014

Petit Sphinx Gardien by Leonor Fini, 1943-44. Oil on canvas. What is it that wounds and also heals, disappears and reappears, hides and reveals. Sphinx, I dare not give the word for fear that it will then have power over … Continue reading →

I want to whisper cliches that the days are too short and cost more than we know, but saying so is not enough. Still I am charged, dear friend, by the weight that amputates many a future rendezvous, distance and … Continue reading →

So many aches are shadows of pleasures that elongate when a light source moves away from us; we see darkness deepening, cast by the fire burning only, now, behind us. What turns us away from the flame so we step … Continue reading →

Words take on value only insofar as context emerges in relation to others, with words, with an attentive reader. Dollar bills acquire their value in the trade, the need and want, exchange— hand to hand, account to account. Nuts and … Continue reading →

She kneads me in the middle of the night while I should be sleeping and leaves affectionate pin pricks that are still there on my skin in the morning and look a bit like a rash on my rib cage. … Continue reading →

Why is the poet’s voice most arresting when duty requires other agency? At 4am the sphinx stretches and purrs. What scratches her back to make her sing? What rubs her velvet nose and tugs gently at her scruff, forehead to … Continue reading →

It’s a hardening of grounds, a calcification that occludes, redirects the flow of any fluid-state body: man freezes into the role of laborer. A bottlenecking of resources through the narrow straights of attention takes the broadness of personhood and whittles … Continue reading →